


Cooldown

by sainnis



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Caretaking, Crushes, EMT Shiro, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Running, Smitten Keith (Voltron), Smitten Shiro (Voltron), They Finally Share Feelings And It's Soft, heat exhaustion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25872856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sainnis/pseuds/sainnis
Summary: Shiro's spent all summer pining for his quiet running partner, but when he ends up treating Keith in the first aid tent after a scare during their 10K, he's the one who's struggling to find the words.(More soft h/c with feelings coming your way!)
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 95
Kudos: 311





	Cooldown

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sheith In Summer 2020!
> 
> Day Four: Heatwave
> 
> Thanks to @goldentruth813 for sponsoring and running Sheith In Summer!

Shiro ducks into the first aid tent with a case of water, dropping it by the entrance. Sweat’s already dripping down his hairline and he’s grateful for the shade. It’s already eighty-nine degrees and it’ll be well over ninety by the time the 10K starts. 

“Thanks so much for filling in with us today,” Allura said. She’s the first aid coordinator and he’s worked with her at a few other races in the past. “We had a few people cancel last minute. I’m sorry you won’t be able to run, but you’ll have the eternal gratitude of the Black Lion Rescue Society and all the snacks you can eat.” Allura gives him a grin and hands him a dark blue t-shirt emblazoned with the word “Medic” across the front and back. “So, you’re an EMT?”

“Yeah.” Shiro pulls off his tank top and yanks the shirt over his head. It’s a little tight, but it’ll do. “I started with it in high school, actually, but couldn’t take the certification exam until I turned 18. This summer’s been tough with my lab assistant position at the university, but I still try to get in a few days a month where I can.”

“That’s where your running group’s from, yeah?” Allura dumps bags of ice into coolers. They’re probably going to have their fair share of people struggling with the heat and humidity today and he goes through their pre-race checklist.

“We’re just a little pick-up crew. We meet over at Galaxy Running Company every week. Mostly just students working on campus this summer.” Shiro pulls out his phone, showing her group photo in front of the shop. There’s about fifteen people in the picture, but Shiro’s gaze is fixed on the rangy figure standing next to him in the shot. The disappointment of missing the chance to finally get to run his first race with Keith stings, but he’s excited to cheer him on today regardless. 

Maybe, Shiro thinks, maybe today when the race is over they’ll finally get to have a real conversation. 

He’s only known Keith since the summer started, but they’ve run so many miles together now that it feels like he’s known him much longer. Their pace is perfectly matched. Shiro’s never had a running partner like him before, someone that can keep up with him but also isn’t annoyed if he needs to slow down. They usually exchange a few pleasantries, asking about each other’s lab projects--Keith’s in biokinetics, Shiro in aeronautics--and then they fall into silence, just their breaths and the soft thud of their sneakers on the macadam. Shiro’s never looked forward to running more in his entire life because it means he’ll get to see Keith. 

An outside observer, Shiro is sure, would think that his interest in Keith is purely aesthetic. Keith’s _hot_ , no mistake. He’s got lean, long legs that make gym shorts look like couture, his hair would make an anime hero jealous, and his smile is only made more gorgeous by the faded scar on his cheek that tugs up when he grins. Although most of the time they run next to each other, Shiro has been known to occasionally fake a side stitch just to catch a glimpse of his ass, because that, too, is a delight. 

If it were just looks, though, Shiro could get over it. Well, maybe. But the thing with Keith is that the few bits of information Shiro’s gotten out of him just mash every button in Shiro’s brain. They’re both juniors. He’s smart, and not just in a GPA way. He likes Star Wars, if his wallet’s Rebel symbol is anything to go by. He wants to run 10K in the scorching heat on behalf of rescue animals. He owns a pair of boxer briefs with cacti on them, the top of them visible when he lifts his arms over his head. (The last one, Shiro admits, maybe isn’t super important but it is adorable, considering Keith just transferred from the southwest.)

There’s so much more Shiro wants to know, but up until now, he’s been so afraid that he’d scare Keith off with exuberant questions. Shiro knows he can go a little golden retriever on people. It’s not his fault; he just gets excited. The last thing he wants is to burst this quiet trust he’s built up between them. This 10K was the perfect opportunity to finally try to carefully, thoughtfully, have an actual conversation and, if the stars are on Shiro’s side, maybe even ask him out. Instead, Shiro’s going to be taping blisters and handing out water bottles while the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen runs right by. 

Music starts blaring through speakers outside, playing the usual high-bpm, family-friendly pop. He and Allura make small talk as they set up the tent, prepping a few cots and making sure all the first aid kits are fully stocked. There’s a quiet ease to the simple tasks and Shiro appreciates that unlike some of his EMT shifts, the aid tent at a fundraising 10K tends to be relatively low-stakes. He got into emergency work because it saved his life when he was thirteen--a car accident that took his arm and nearly killed him--and even though he feels the adrenaline when they get a big call, he prefers the ones where they don’t have to load anyone into an ambulance. He likes the little patch jobs, the ones where people don’t need saving so much as an assist, the kind where grandmas press a slice of pound cake into his hand as thanks for putting steri-strips on a cut. He’s not trying to save the world. He just wants to help. 

The call for runners to line up shouts through the music, and Shiro steps outside the tent. The crowd is too far away, but he can’t help but look for Keith anyway. There’s a little itch under his skin that he knows running would help alleviate, but that’ll have to wait. He used to hate running, but after he lost his arm, a lot of other sports were out, and running was a good way to not sink into his own frustration. He flexes the fingers of his prosthetic, newly updated a few weeks back with improved sensory tech. He knows how lucky he is, how getting into that medical trial before college changed his life. With therapy, physical and mental, he’s left a lot of his bitterness behind, but the running stuck. 

The race starts as the crowd cheers and Shiro gives them a wave, as if somehow Keith can see him, which of course he can’t. Despite the oppressive heat, about three hundred runners turned out, and the course isn’t exactly flat. He clicks his tongue; it’s almost laughable that he wishes he was out there with them, falling into the synced rhythm that he and Keith always do. He always used to be a solo runner, usually getting runs in as the sun came up, but when he saw Keith eyeing the Galaxy Running Company flyer on the campus bulletin board after their first day of lab work, he decided to give group running a try. 

It turns out he doesn’t much care for the group thing, but now his runs with Keith are the highlight of his week. Sometimes in the middle of a run, Keith will just smile, like he’s having the time of his life, like he was built just to go _fast_ , and Shiro feels his heart trip over his ribs. 

They’re not five minutes into the race when someone staggers into the tent with a turned ankle. Shiro can tell from their sneakers that they’ve been wearing them far too long. He sets them up with ice and some advice for getting new shoes. A few more trickle in as the race goes on, mostly dealing with heat-related issues, but nothing serious. 10Ks always bring out some unprepared folks, and Shiro does his best to encourage them, finding out a little about their running plans and trying to give simple tips for next time. A half hour in, the temperature’s higher than predicted, nearly ninety-seven, and Shiro feels sweat dripping down his back just from walking around outside the tent when he goes to retrieve more water.

“Hey! Medic!” Shiro turns around to find someone waving their arms at him. “Need some help here!’ He drops the water, following them, and for a moment, all he sees is red.

It’s _Keith._

“This guy just started to fall. We caught him, though. Think he got dizzy.” Held up between two runners, Keith’s barely standing, his chest heaving, head bowed. A wave of panic rises in Shiro and he does what he’s been trained to do: he tamps it down. 

“Okay. Did he lose consciousness at all?” Shiro can see the smaller runner is struggling to hold Keith up, and he waves them aside, easily taking on Keith’s weight.

“I don’t think so.” 

“Keith, you with me?” He doesn’t answer, but he swings his head a little in Shiro’s direction. Keith’s favorite cherry-red running tank is plastered to his body, its color faded to a dark maroon with sweat. Where his skin touches Shiro’s, it’s cool and clammy. At least that’s a good sign; if it was dry, he’d be calling an ambulance. “Stay with me, buddy.” 

It’s only a matter of yards to the aid tent and Shiro heads straight for the closest cot, settling Keith gently onto it. “Thanks so much,” Shiro says to Keith’s rescuers. “Make sure you grab some water. I’ll take care of him.” 

Shiro’s never seen Keith like this. He’s always so full of energy, bouncing a knee while they wait for evening runs to start or rushing across campus on an errand. Lying on the cot, he’s listless, limbs quiet. He’s drenched with sweat. It pools in his collarbones, slips down his flushed cheeks to his jawline, gleaming over the racing pulse at his throat. Shiro pulls out his med kit and snaps on gloves before catching Keith’s gaze, holding it for a second before he speaks. “Hey, Keith. I’ve got you. Just try to breathe, okay? I’m going to get your vitals.”

Keith nods, letting Shiro slip a thermometer under his tongue. Air hisses through Keith’s nose with his labored breaths. The unit works fast and spits out a reading: 101.2. He’s careful not to let any alarm show in his expression. It’s higher than Shiro would like, but he’s not in the danger zone yet. As long as they can bring it down, he’ll be all right. He reaches for Keith’s wrist, talking him through what he’s doing before he does it. “I just need to get your pulse.”

Shiro presses his fingertips against Keith’s wrist. His pulse is 140 and weak, which doesn’t surprise Shiro at all considering how hard his body’s trying to cool itself. Hopefully his heart rate will slow now that he’s out of the sun. “Does anything hurt?”

“Just,” Keith’s hand slips over his stomach. His voice is strained, like every word costs him something. “Feel kinda sick.”

“Everything’s going to be okay. We’ll get you cooled down and you’ll feel a lot better. Shiro pulls out his cuff and wraps it around Keith’s bicep, pressing his stethoscope against the inside of Keith’s elbow. His blood pressure’s definitely low. It’s a small miracle he didn’t pass out. He takes a quick listen to Keith’s heart and lungs, making sure nothing sounds amiss. His chest still heaves as he tries to catch his breath, but Shiro doesn’t hear any wheezing or abnormal heart sounds. There’s a piece of him that thinks how strangely intimate it is that he’s heard Keith’s heartbeat when they’ve barely said a handful of words to each other, but he shoves that thought aside.

“The good news is, as bad as you feel, you’ve got heat exhaustion, not heatstroke.” He drops a hand on Keith’s arm. “We can treat it here, okay?” He holds a bottle of water to Keith’s lips, steering the straw between them. “Take a drink.”

Keith glances at him before taking a drag. He’s still panting so he can’t drink for long, but he manages a few sips before his head tips back against the pillow. “That’s it. Good job.” Before he can think anything of it, he brushes a thick swath of sweaty, dark hair out of Keith’s eyes. “You still feeling dizzy?”

A muffled groan escapes Keith’s throat. “A little.”

“Okay.” Shiro reaches into his kit to get a few ice packs, cracking them between his palms to activate them. “I’m a little concerned about your temperature. Let’s get your shirt off and get some cold packs on you.”

He gently tugs the hem of Keith’s soaked tank over his head, setting it aside to dry. A box fan is plugged in near the entrance to the tent and Shiro turns it in Keith’s direction, pointing cooler air towards his cot. There’s a moment where his EMT brain slips over into his regular brain and he can’t help but admire Keith’s lean body, the delicate movement of his ab muscles as he breathes. Milliseconds later, EMT brain snaps back. Focus, Shiro. “Can you, uh, lift your head up?” Keith does, and Shiro puts a cold pack under his neck, adjusting the pillow. “That okay? You comfortable?”

“Yeah.” At least Keith’s color is starting to look a little better. 

He lifts Keith’s arms up, tucking smaller packs under his armpits. “I know it’s weird, but it’ll help.”

“Thanks, Shiro,” Keith says softly, wincing as his hand covers his belly again.

“I’m sorry about your stomach. It’ll feel better soon, I swear.” He holds out the water again. “Try just a few little sips.” Keith complies and tracks Shiro’s movements as he sets down a milk crate to sit next to Keith’s cot. “This was not how I hoped to meet you today.”

Keith chokes a little on the water. “You were hoping to meet me today?”

“Yeah, you know, to run with you. Our first 10K together.”

“I thought,” Keith says, his eyes half-lidded, “I thought maybe you forgot.”

“Oh!” Shiro’s chest tightens. “Keith. No, of course not. I’m so sorry.” He pulls out his phone. “I wanted to text you this morning to tell you they’d pulled me in to be a medic instead but, um,” he exhales. “I realized I didn’t have your number.”

Keith reaches up and tugs on the stethoscope around Shiro’s neck. “I didn’t know you were a medic.”

“Yeah. EMT. Just, you know, part-time. I promise I know what I’m doing, though.” He mimes pulling out his wallet. “I can show you my ID if you want.”

“I trust you.” Keith flicks at glance at the water and Shiro helps him take another sip. “I thought I was hallucinating when I saw you. Everything was kinda dark around the edges.”

Shiro wants to take his hand, but he flexes his fingers instead, resisting the urge. This is the longest string of sentences they’ve exchanged and he doesn’t want to ruin it. “I’m sure it was a little scary.”

He expects Keith to protest and deny it, which is probably what Shiro would do, but Keith nods. “I thought I was going to drop in the street.” He looks a little embarrassed. “I wasn’t stupid. I ran a lot in Arizona. I ate, hydrated. I know what to do.”

“That’s probably why you _didn’t_ pass out. You did the right things, but the heat index with the humidity here is brutal. You’re just not used to it yet.”

Keith sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “I keep wondering if I ever will.”

“Oh, I mean, your body eventually adapts to the…” Shiro pauses. “Oh. You mean being here. In Cambridge.” 

“It’s just really different.” Keith’s breathing is much calmer now, but there’s a sad twist to his mouth that makes Shiro lean a little closer. “My parents work for the government, so I moved all the time as a kid. I figured transferring wouldn’t be any different, but this university is so much bigger, and it’s hard to feel, I don’t know.” He stops, staring at the ceiling.

“Like you belong?” Shiro offers.

“Yeah, I guess.” Keith scrubs a hand down his face, pulling it away and rubbing his fingertips together. “God, I’m a sweaty disaster.” 

“You’re not. I mean, not a disaster, anyway.” Shiro wishes he could fast forward to a moment where he knows Keith well enough to hug him. “And I think you’re doing pretty good so far.”

“You’re just being ni—ow!” Keith yelps, reaching down to grab at his leg. “Fuck,” he hisses.

Shiro tenses. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just a cramp,” Keith’s chin tips up, teeth gritted as he tries to stretch his calf. “Ow. I gotta stand up.”

“No, wait. Stay still. I’ve got you.” Shiro rises to his feet, taking Keith’s ankle and raising it up, trying not to notice now his running shorts make his legs look even longer. “This’ll help. Just give it a sec.”

Keith makes a choked sound for a moment, cursing under his breath. “I don’t think that’ll—“ he stops, letting out a slow exhale. “Oh. Okay.”

“Is it stopping?” Shiro’s careful not to lift his leg too high, but he has a feeling Keith’s pretty flexible. He definitely needs to not think about that. 

“Yeah. Yeah.” Keith settles his head back on the pillow. “Wow. They teach you that one in EMT school?”

“Nah.” Shiro brushes a hand over Keith’s calf, making sure the muscle isn’t spasming anymore. “PT. So many years of PT.” When he’s certain the cramp has passed, he slowly drops Keith’s leg, massaging the muscle lightly. “How’s that feel?”

“Better,” Keith says, voice low. He looks up at Shiro, pursing his lips. “So. PT. For your arm.”

“Yeah. Before and after the prosthetic.” He retrieves a red Gatorade for Keith, opening it and holding it out for him to sip. “Your electrolytes are probably low. This’ll help with the cramps.”

“How did you know this was my flavor?” Keith asks before he sips. His hair’s starting to dry and the pieces across his forehead have the slightest wave to them at the ends. 

“Red just seems like your color.”

Keith drinks more than Shiro expects; his stomach must be feeling better. He tilts his head, his chest still for a moment with a held breath as he glances at Shiro’s prosthetic.“Is it, um, rude to ask you what happened?”

“Not at all.” Shiro flexes his metal fingers. “I was in a car accident when I was thirteen. I was with my best friend Matt and his dad and we got caught in an ice storm. It totaled the car. Matt and his dad were okay, but my side of the car took the brunt of the damage.”

“Holy shit. Shiro, that’s awful.”

“It...sucked. I started running because I was so mad. My therapist thought it might help. And I guess it did since I never gave it up.” He scoffs, sitting back down. “I got this the summer before college. I’m the youngest person to have gotten this model. It’s gone better than I could have hoped.” He laughs a little, holding up his prosthetic. The tiny blue lights they’ve added on the side are a nice touch and he doesn’t mind showing them off. “This version is much better-looking than the first one, believe me.”

Keith sighs. “And here I am complaining about a leg cramp.”

“Um, they really hurt, and you’re allowed. There’s not a spectrum of pain where certain ones aren’t valid.” He squeezes Keith’s wrist for a second. “I got into all this because if I can make someone feel a little calmer, a little less pain, well, that means something.”

“Worked on me,” Keth says softly. He takes another sip of Gatorade and then winces. “Shit. I’m sorry. You probably have other people to help. I’ve taken up all your time.”

Shiro looks over his shoulder. The race is over by now and there’s only one other person in the tent, being tended to by Allura. “Nope. You’re my guy.” He blanches, catching himself. “I mean. My patient.” He rubs the back of his neck, hoping to distract from his gaffe. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “I never ran with other people before. I always did it alone. But I thought maybe there was something I was missing, so when I saw you looking at the club flyer, it, I don’t know, inspired me.”

“I’m surprised,” Keith says. “You’re a really good partner.”

The praise makes Shiro flush. “I was kind of devastated when I got the call this morning that they needed me in the tent. I was really looking forward to getting a matching time with you.”

“I was doing really well today. Until, you know, the part where I started to faint.” A tiny glint flashes in Keith’s eyes. “Fair warning for the next race, but I can be a little competitive. I might have gone for that extra millisecond, crossed the line before you.”

Fuck, he’s cute. “I wouldn’t begrudge you the win one bit.” He glances down at Keith’s sneakers. “But Brooks, though? Really?”

“Are you kidding me? Their Kosmos are the best sneakers on earth. They’re all I wear.” 

“I mean, I won’t blame you because you haven’t been enlightened to Mizunos yet.”

“Oh, here we go.” Keith rolls his eyes. “Sorry that I like to be comfortable when I run.” They poke a little fun back and forth about sneakers and which socks actually are blister-free, and Keith manages to finish the Gatorade. “How is it that we’ve been running together all summer and you’ve never, like, talked to me?”

Shiro freezes. “Um, I thought you, you know, liked it quiet. You seem quiet. Not that that’s a bad thing. Quiet’s okay.”

The corners of Keith’s mouth turn up. “I’m not _that_ quiet.”

“I don’t mean you, not that you’re--” Shiro sputters. “I just didn’t want to make you feel overwhelmed. Like the first week you didn’t say much and I thought, well, you preferred that.” 

Keith shrugs. “I’m quiet until I get to know people.” He gestures between them. “Obviously.” He gives Shiro’s forearm a light shove. “Here I thought you were the quiet one.”

Shiro’s laugh is a bit too loud for the tent. “Oh, my God. Me?” He grins, shaking his head. “I definitely gave you the wrong impression.”

“Good to know. I’ll be ready for our next run, then.” Shiro’s stomach flips at the idea of their next run. At least Keith still wants to do that even after his experience today.

The lines of Keith’s body are more relaxed now. There’s no tension in his muscles and his breathing is gentle and easy. He seems like he’s feeling much better, but Shiro’s EMT brain wants scientific reassurance. He takes away the cold packs, which have lost most of their potency, and clears his throat. “Not to go all EMT on you, but I just want to do a quick vitals check to make sure you’re doing okay.” 

Keith lifts the arm closest to Shiro. “Go nuts.” 

Shiro takes his vitals, finding that Keith’s blood pressure has improved, his temperature’s dropped to 99, and his respiration rate is about what anyone’s would be on a hot day. The only thing that hasn’t gone back to normal is his pulse. “Everything’s good,” he says, snapping off his gloves. “But your heart rate is still on the high side. You sure you’re feeling okay?” 

“Oh,” Keith says, and for the first time ever in front of Shiro, he bursts into laughter. It’s such a charming sound that Shiro almost misses what he says next. “It’s because you’re hot.”

“Wait, what?”

Keith stares at him for a moment before blowing out a breath. “And you’re incredibly sweet on top of it. Like I’m about to pass out and you swoop in wearing _that_ shirt and never leave my side? That kind of thing affects a guy, you know?” 

Shiro realizes his mouth is open, but he can’t seem to shut it. “Hold on.” Shiro knows he’s blushing down his throat. “Your pulse is fast because of me?”

“I mean, I’m sure it was the heat exhaustion before, but yeah, it’s pretty much your fault now.” 

_“Keith.”_

“Oh!” Keith pushes up a little on his elbows, dropping his voice. “Am I gonna get you in trouble with your boss?”

Allura snorts from across the room. “I’m not his boss.”

A slow grin appears on Keith’s face. “So then it’s okay if we spend more time together? Or, I mean, unless I’m misreading—“

“No! I mean, you’re not misreading.” Shiro bites his lip. “I, uh, was actually hoping to ask you out after the race.”

Keith tilts his head. “What’s stopping you?”

A choked laugh makes its way out of Shiro’s throat. “Mainly making sure that we didn’t need to get you to a hospital. But, like, if you’re feeling up to it, I mean, maybe pizza and a movie on the couch?” His heart speeds just getting the words out. 

Keith raises his eyebrows. “I saw a snowcone machine out there on the quad. Get me a cherry one and you’ve got a deal.” 

Shiro’s smile is automatic. “It’s a date.” He turns over his shoulder. “Allura, do you need help cleaning up any--”

“I definitely don’t.” She waves them towards the entrance of the tent. “Why don’t you two find some air conditioning and go make out or something?”

Keith pushes himself up into a sitting position on the cot. “She’s got a point.” He holds out his hand. “You gonna help me up?”

Shiro takes it, lifting Keith to his feet. “You okay? You might be a little dizzy.” He puts a steadying hand on Keith’s back. 

“You’ll make sure I don’t fall down, yeah?” Keith nudges him with his elbow. He doesn’t seem wobbly at all, but Shiro’s not going to let him go far. 

“Not on my watch.” He reaches out with his free hand, picking up Keith’s tank top, even though he’s loath to see Keith’s bare skin disappear. “Here. I think it’s mostly dry by now.” 

Keith tugs it over his head. “Thank you.” He looks up at Shiro before lifting himself up on his toes and pressing a soft kiss against his mouth. “My hero.”

Shiro flushes again, his chest filling with air and hope. “I’ll make sure you get my number. Anytime you need saving, just give me a call.” 

Keith’s face lights up as he sways a little into Shiro’s space. “What if I just want to talk?”

He grins. “That works, too.”

Shiro loops his arm around Keith's waist even though he doesn't need the support, loving the press of Keith’s body against his side as they walk out of the tent and into the bright sunshine. He might not have entered the race today, but he definitely feels like he won.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'm on tw [@] starlitruns ✨


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